The Dream Runners (Shveta Thakrar)

“Honey? Sorry to bother you, but I can’t find—” The dream tattered, and Tanvi whirled around to see a woman staring at her. She groped for a dreamstone, coming up with a champagne zircon. “Who are you?” The woman jabbed her finger at the wisps still billowing through the air. “And what the hell is that?” Shame and panic clogged Tanvi’s throat as she rushed to guide the loose wisps into the vial. But she’d waited a beat too long, and they dissipated even as she grabbed for them. The woman elbowed her aside. “Stan?” she cried. “Stan?” She glowered at Tanvi. “What did you do to him?” The man’s eyes opened. “What’s going on?” he slurred. “Marie?” Swearing, Tanvi ran for the exit. The woman’s shouts had been enough to draw her children into the doorway. When Tanvi tried to force herself between them, the boy snagged her arm, and Tanvi had to kick him in the shin before he let go. In the process, she dropped the vial, and the girl snapped it up. There was no time to fight her for it. The unwanted thing in Tanvi’s chest pounding, she dashed down the stairs and back outside. Everything was breaking. Everything. Not only had she been seen mid-harvest—by four people—but she’d let the dream get corrupted and even lost a dreamstone. Her fantasy of returning to Bhogavati and resuming her normal life evaporated, just like the wisps of the man’s dream. Tanvi ran and ran, desperate to put Sameer’s street behind her. Every house and restaurant and store felt like a mosquito biting her, injecting her with colors and signs and architectural flourishes that raised little itchy bumps of almost memory. Bumps she could feel but couldn’t reach to scratch. Tanvi was halfway to Penn’s Landing, resigned to her fate, when another detail floated up. A memory. She’d ended up at Sameer’s door, but that wasn’t the right one. The door in her memory was red. The red door. It was real, and Tanvi knew where to find it.

The taxi idled, waiting for Tanvi to get out, and she muttered her thanks before handing over the promised diamond. First she hadn’t been able to find a taxi, and when she finally did, it took her three tries before one would accept a dreamstone instead of cash to drive her out to Mount Airy. And here she’d thought mortals really liked these cold rocks, as if they meant anything without a dream inside them. Her breath skittered. She didn’t have to do this. She could give the driver another vial to turn around. Except everything had gone wrong since that night that girl had called her the wrong name, and she still hadn’t found out why. The driver grimaced at the diamond. “How do I know it’s real?” he challenged yet again. That decided her. “Only one way to find out,” she shot back, then hopped out of the car. The engine’s rumble subsided, leaving her to confront the big gray stone house with the circular stained-glass windows on the second floor. And the red door from her dreams. Tanvi was going to throw up. Dread soured her guts, and the thing in her chest galloped fast enough to take on a racehorse. Every part of her screamed for her to run, to go home. Dream runners didn’t have families. They didn’t care about the past. Every part—except the one that unclenched at the sight of the red door. The thing in Tanvi’s chest, her heart that should have gone dormant for all time. A bird had made a nest in the magnolia tree in the landscaped front yard. The tree promised more unknotting of memories she didn’t want, now or ever. Just like the azaleas, both pink and red, lining the side of the house. But not like that pinwheel garden stake or those solar lights on the railing—those were new. Tears pricked at her eyes for the second time this morning, and she rubbed at them with her knuckles. You don’t have to do this. This isn’t your world. So what if her mind kept playing that name? She could keep ignoring it until it went away.

Except, her heart beat out, there was no going back. That door was closed, and the one before her waited to be opened. She had to know. Tanvi had never felt sicker or more scared. Something shot out of the bush by her feet, writhing across the grass and somehow leaping onto her arm. Tanvi shrieked and tried to shake it loose. The cobra only wound itself around her like a deadly vine until it glared up from her wrist. It opened its mouth wide, baring its fangs and throat. Its forked tongue flicked in and out; its green-gold reptilian eyes glinted accusingly at her. Tanvi stared at it. She’d never had any reason to fear snakes until now. All it would take was one bite . . . The cobra hissed and blurred. The next second, a mostly human Asha in a pretty silver dress appeared next to Tanvi. Her unnaturally golden-brown eyes were the only possible giveaway that she was more than what she seemed. “Well, good morning to you, resident troublemaker. Venkat is deeply fearful for you, poor boy.” Tanvi checked to see if anyone else had noticed the cobra on her arm or the girl materializing out of thin air. Luckily, they were alone. “Wha—what?” she finally managed. “What are you doing here? Are you trying to scare me to death?” “You ssssseek death perfectly well on your own, it would ssssseem to me.” Asha pointed to the nest in the tree. “That is no ordinary nest,” she went on, mercifully ditching the exaggerated sibilants. “That is an eagle’s nest. Luckily for us, the eagle in question is absent.” Tanvi didn’t get it. What did nests have to do with anything? Then she remembered the garter snake chasing the rat. Asha could take any serpent form she liked. “Wait, did you follow me?” “Someone had to keep watch over you, running all over town and exposing yourself as you are so foolishly doing. Harvesting dreams in broad daylight? Truly?” Asha studied her, then added in a guarded tone, “Tanvi, why did you come here?” Tanvi didn’t say anything, and Asha’s canines sharpened to wicked points. “If you do not tell me, I will bite you, and I promise you will not enjoy the experience.”

“Do you do that to Sameer, too?” Tanvi asked, trying to divert Asha as much as herself. The large house continued to loom over her, and it scared her even more than Asha had. “Naturally. What is the point of being a nagini if I cannot enjoy myself on occasion?” Asha grinned. “It is hardly my fault you mortals are so easily frightened. Now”—she flashed her fangs again—“tell me!” “No,” Tanvi said. She waited for Asha to argue, or maybe to bite her. Even naga venom couldn’t hurt as much as the fear in her chest. Asha gave the house a calculating once-over. Then she tilted her chin toward Tanvi like she was waiting for something. Tanvi shook her head. “I said no, didn’t I?” Asha sighed heavily. “Stubborn to the end.” She morphed into a blue tree snake and leaped onto Tanvi’s wrist, where she molded herself into a delicate bangle. Whatever that meant. Tanvi didn’t really think Asha would bite her. Or at least, she didn’t think it was likely. But it was worth the risk if it meant she didn’t have to do this all alone. She slogged up the pebbled path, each step bringing her closer to the house. Someone had drawn a chalk rangoli with daisies and lotuses in jewel tones on the driveway. Asha lifted her head to inspect the artwork, her tongue testing the air. Tanvi could swear she’d seen something like the rangoli before. Something about the daisies. Her temples ached. The holes in her memory were like moth bites taken out of a wool sweater, inviting in the bone-biting chill. She shouldn’t be here. She should leave. But she’d arrived at the red door. It had a doorbell, and doorbells were for ringing. Tanvi’s finger reached out, independent of her doubting head, and pressed the button. The door opened almost immediately, and her own face stared back at her. A million different expressions flitted over it: incredulity, relief, joy, anger. “Tanvi?” Say it, Tanvi commanded herself. “Nitya.” The girl with her face set down the camera she’d been holding and yanked Tanvi into a bear hug. It felt suffocating and gross—but it

also felt like something Tanvi knew. Despite everything, she relaxed into it. “Tanvi,” her twin sister breathed. “You’re alive.”

14 Venkat pushed his blanket away. The tiny mirrors embroidered along the soft, sea-toned cloth snared the first rays of Lord Surya’s chariot as it crossed the sky and flung them over him. He glimpsed his own eyes in the glass—sad and worried, with hollows beneath. He’d tossed and turned for what little remained of the night, one ear primed for Asha’s trademark hiss. Waiting for her to let him know Tanvi was okay. I shall keep her safe, she’d promised, and he’d had to accept that. Go and rest. Tanvi’s question about Jai ate at him as he traipsed through his suite of rooms and down the winding stairs to the carved jade tub. How did sending the dream runners back to Prithvi in a state of burnout, their hearts still silenced, actually solve the problem? Maybe Nayan could overlook that in the name of the greater goal, what with everything he had to juggle. But having seeing runner after runner burn out, Venkat wasn’t sure anymore that he could. He rushed through his too-hot bath, scrubbing harder than necessary, like he could slough off the guilt along with the grime.

Where was Asha? Why hadn’t she returned with Tanvi yet? The memory of Tanvi’s pretty face glowered at him, accusing. He hadn’t missed the absolute despair scrawled on her cheeks when he’d found her packing in her room, let alone the panic in her gaze— and it was all wrong. Dream runners weren’t supposed to feel anything but the urge to harvest. What could possibly make her panic like that? Venkat grabbed for a towel from the selection arrayed in the linen cabinet. He shouldn’t have let Tanvi go. He’d scared her off when he should have made her feel like she could tell him what was going on. He was failing all of them—his runners and Nayan both. His heart hurt. He would never forgive himself for not having worked harder to help Jai. To save him. And now this. That was it. He had no choice but to tell Nayan what was going on. Once he’d dried off, Venkat headed to his wardrobe. The earlymorning sunlight buttered everything in the suite, illuminating the colorful murals on the teal walls, scenes of the nagas through history, their scales rendered in iridescent mother-of-pearl and their jewelry and crowns done in delicate applications of gold leaf. Where it passed through the perforated designs of the jali borders separating the small rooms, it left a thousand four-pointed suns scattered in its wake. Everywhere Venkat looked, opulent gem-studded lanterns glimmered gold like celestial bodies, vibrant torans hung over windows, and colorful embroidered poufs peppered the floor. More couches and chairs with ornate frames and sumptuous fabrics than he could ever need sat spaced at aesthetically pleasing intervals, their ocean-green and violet hues reminiscent of dreamstone vials. He even had two custom-made marble bookcases with a motif of tiny gilt elephants, one on either side of his bed, each crammed with volumes and volumes of stories. The suite was a haven, a place any noble would happily retreat to from the cares of court life. But none of it made him feel any better, any more than it had when Nayan first set eight-year-old Venkat up here, stressing that any member of his house deserved only the best. Than it had when

Venkat cried himself to sleep alone every night, sobbing for the parents and brother he would never see again, until he’d eventually learned to find consolation in stories. Even if the silver-gray kurta pajama he pulled on now was sized for an adult, he felt as powerless now as he had back then, too small to fill such a big role. He’d dreamed, he remembered suddenly, just before dawn—the old nightmare: the afternoon of the earthquake, when he’d lost his first family. Over and over, as the theater crashed down, Papa begged him to save them, and over and over, Mummy screamed that he’d failed them. That he was the one who deserved to die. Maybe, Venkat thought, the old self-loathing coating him like rubble from the collapse, I do. He hadn’t let himself think that way in years, but then, he hadn’t had that dream in years, either, not since the parade of books had replaced it. Shame, raw and scorching, rekindled in his chest, threatening to suffocate him, the same way he’d watched his family suffocate. You failed us, his mother’s long-dead voice chanted, like a corrupted mantra. You failed us, you failed us, you failed us. Someone banged at the door, jolting him out of the dark spiral. Asha. Finally. Just like Nayan had taught him, Venkat locked the memories away in the invisible chest in his heart. “Took you long enough,” he called, schooling his mouth into a pleasant smile. But it wasn’t Asha. Instead Madhu stood there, wrapped in a cardinal-red sari, her thick white bun threaded through with strands of gold. The matching red bindi between her eyebrows dipped as she glared at him. “Lord Nayan wishes to see you before your appointments.” Venkat’s smile sagged. “He does?” “Jyotsna and Anand have delivered your breakfast to the archives.” Tiny bells on her golden ankle bracelets tinkled as she moved. “Come; Lord Nayan awaits.” Nayan never sought Venkat out so early in the day. Was it Jai? Was it Tanvi?

Madhu didn’t say a word as they hurried to the archives, which didn’t help. She barely waited to throw open the double doors, each with a pull in the shape of a praying nagini, before announcing, “I return to you the absent child, uprooted from his own fancies!” “Ha, ha.” Venkat entered after her, braced for Nayan to take one look at his face and work out everything that had happened yesterday. Nayan was seated at his desk, washed in the pale blue-green glow from the skylights. The ledger lay open before him, and scrolls tied with silk cords sat piled to one side. In his heavily embroidered cobalt sherwani and surrounded by the vast shelves of gilt-bound volumes and vials of previously mined dream fragments, he seemed aloof, the court historian engrossed in other times, other places. The single incongruous object was the table set beside the desk. Two chairs ringed the table, and two golden plates bordered by emeralds and sapphires matched the covered platter gleaming tantalizingly at the center of the table. Venkat’s stomach rumbled at the aromas drifting out from beneath the domed cover, a pointed reminder that he never did pay his second visit to the buffet last night. But the thought of what he had to tell Nayan crushed his appetite. “Good morning?” he tried as Madhu served the food. “Thank you, Madhu.” Nayan rose and pulled out both chairs. “Sit,” he told Venkat. Venkat sat. Madhu poured them each a glass of jewel-fig water and stood back. “Enjoy.” The palace chefs had prepared Venkat’s favorite foods: crispy masala dosa, pongal garnished with ghee, pillowy idli, and steaming sambar. Though obviously not like the Prithvi equivalent, it all looked and smelled fantastic, a rich combination of spices and hues and textures to rival any feast he’d extracted from a dream. But Venkat didn’t want to waste another minute. “I’m not really hungry.” He’d forgotten who he was talking to. Madhu cocked her head at him, the wrinkles deepening around her severe gold-brown stare. “Enjoy,” she repeated.

“How often do we have the chance to break our fast together?” Nayan put in. Never, Venkat said silently. That was exactly what worried him. He tore off a piece of the masala dosa and dipped the bite into a dish of jewel-coconut chutney. It was tangy and savory, and the fresh idli was spongy enough to sleep on, but the entire meal might as well have been unseasoned khichdi. All he could taste was dread. Had Madhu seen? Did Nayan already know? While Madhu hovered, eager to swoop in with more food, Nayan recounted his conversations from the night before. Venkat only half listened until he heard a familiar name. “Asha will need to be vigilant. Chintan’s friends leave much to be desired.” Nayan’s baritone laugh rang through the chamber. “Would you believe that scoundrel Karan imagined he might ingratiate himself with me by alluding to his friendship with the prince?” Madhu snorted. “I do believe it.” Venkat coughed hard and gulped the cool jewel-fig water. “What did you say to him?” he choked out between spasms. Nayan’s tone grew sharp. “I suggested he tread with care when trading on authority not his to claim.” Madhu smiled, and that simple but predatory twist of her lips left Venkat’s palms damp with sweat. Anyone who thought she was a harmless old grandmother deserved what came to them. “Indeed.” He’d never had any illusions about what it took to hold down an office like Nayan’s, with all the upstarts and opportunists and people blatantly out to wrest some power for themselves, but it was rare that he saw this side of it. Nayan really did keep him shielded. And Venkat didn’t want to be on the receiving end of anything like that. Which was why he had to speak up. He shoveled more food into his mouth while doing his best not to think about Jai or Tanvi. With Madhu monitoring him, however, the last thing Venkat wanted to do was eat. It was hard enough not to fidget. Under the table, where no one could see, he tapped out a rhythm on his leg. Nayan swallowed the last of his dosa and wiped his fingers on the napkin Madhu offered him. He turned an inquiring gaze on Venkat. “Would you like anything else?”

Venkat’s cup clattered on the table in his haste to put it down. “No, I’m done.” “Good.” Nayan waited for Madhu to clear their dishes away before continuing. “I trust you enjoyed yourself at the party last night?” Venkat nodded cautiously. “I am glad. I hear you were quite the hit among Asha’s companions.” Nayan smiled again, the proud smile that usually left Venkat glowing inside and eager to work even harder. Then it dimmed. “Until you left, that is. Rather early, as opposed to what we had discussed.” Venkat was almost relieved. Nayan knew. Of course he knew. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “Last night I went to look for Jai. And he wasn’t there.” That wasn’t true—Tanvi was the one who’d gone to look. His heart hammered in alarm; he never lied to Nayan. But his mouth refused to form the right words. Refused even now to admit that Tanvi had run away. “You are a son to me, Venkat,” Nayan said, “and it pains me to see you suffering. Yet it must be said: everything has its cost, and no dream runner can endure indefinitely. You know this.” If only Venkat could be as calm as Nayan. “I do, but—” But it still hurts. Venkat remembered the clever but cold boy Asha had rescued from neglectful parents, remembered how well Jai had taken to running dreams, and how each granted boon had invigorated him from the inside out. We should have saved him. I should have. Nayan and Madhu watched him steadily. “And you feel responsible,” Nayan stated. Venkat hung his head. “Yes.” “Let me show you something.” Nayan unfolded from his chair. “Old mother, please leave us. I would speak to Venkat alone.” “You are being foolish.” The exasperation in Madhu’s pursed mouth was unmistakable. “He is not ready!” Nayan’s brows drew together. “Enough,” he thundered. “I permit and even welcome your counsel. But do not forget who answers to whom.”

Acrid resentment smoldered in Madhu’s eyes. She made no attempt to look away, as if she meant for Nayan to catch it. Venkat had seen them clash before, but not like this. The air between them crackled with unseen lightning as Nayan held her stare. At last Madhu lowered her head. “Understood.” “Good.” Nayan dismissed her with a wave. “Then go about your affairs, and leave us to ours.” Madhu joined her palms before her averted gaze. Without another word, she turned and stalked from the archives. Venkat could still feel the tension, leaden and oppressive. “What was that?” Nayan beckoned for Venkat to follow him into the lift. “Madhu has her own conception of how things should be run, and I have mine. It occasionally leads to friction, but I much prefer that to the useless fawning of a sycophant.” Once they were in the workshop, Nayan stopped before a finely wrought but easily missed gemstone tiger nestled amidst one of the murals. Nothing about it suggested the animal was more than a pricey decoration. Only when Nayan applied a matching key to the tiger’s amber eye would the treasury reveal itself. “What am I not ready for?” Venkat asked, coming up beside him. “I will show you.” Nayan produced the key, which featured a roaring tiger in midair, and touched it to the amber. The mural melted away, unveiling a nondescript recess in the wall barely wide enough to admit two people. Together, they stepped into the now-visible treasury. Nayan pressed a spot on the wall, one Venkat had never noticed before, and something like a stacked cube organizer appeared. It reminded him of the shoe storage compartments he’d seen in the lobbies of mandirs on Prithvi. Only instead of shoes, each cubbyhole was filled with strange objects—a deflated soccer ball, a video game console, a chapter book, a plush bunny, a golden charm bracelet. Nayan pulled one out. “Surely,” he said, his voice wry, “you do not need me to tell you what this is.” “No,” Venkat agreed, his throat closing, and bent to examine the original tricycle Jai had brought with him and had always been striving to get back to through boons.

The yellow frame was dinged and scuffed, chewed-up gum was stuck to one of the tires, and something had scored a rip in the seat. It was what his grandmother would have called well loved. In contrast, the tricycle he’d seen Jai purchase with his boon had been perfect. Immaculate and unmarked, something that had been idealized in nostalgia so many times that it turned into its own story. “Why didn’t you give it back to him?” Venkat demanded. At the very least, Jai could have had his beloved tricycle again. Venkat should have pushed for the details long before now. He should have asked where Nayan was storing the runners’ precious objects. He should have insisted on accompanying Jai back to Prithvi. He’d been a coward, and this was the result. “Oh, I offered it,” Nayan said. “He rebuffed me.” “What do you mean?” Though Nayan spoke kindly, he couldn’t disguise his pity. “He preferred the comfort of the illusion.” Venkat remembered how lovingly Jai had re-created the tricycle, the stand-in for the mortal life he’d given up. The comfort of the illusion—when the pleasure of pursuing the truth, over and over again, was better than the actual truth. An addiction. The insatiable drive to earn boons. Nayan and Venkat had made that happen. “Belief is a powerful force, my son. It can be a delusion to hide behind, or it can serve as the solder that holds one’s purpose together. A dream is only as strong as the dreamer’s belief in it. Break out of that belief, and the dream becomes a tool. Or, to view it from a different angle, we all spin the story we wish to be true. Remove that belief, and . . .” Venkat glanced from the tricycle, now just a hunk of garbage, to the bracelet shining softly in its compartment. He’d messed up with Jai. And with his family, too. Clearly, he didn’t know how to help anyone. “Venkat,” Nayan murmured, “where is Tanvi? It was too late for Jai, but we may yet save her. I know she was attempting to sell her wares to the nobles.” Of course he’d heard. Why had Venkat expected anything else?

But he had a second chance with Tanvi, and he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. “That was my fault,” he lied. “I made her think she was supposed to help Asha and me. Once we got that sorted out, I sent her to do her harvesting.” A pernicious scum coated his tongue and his heart. Before today, he’d never lied to Nayan, and now he’d done it twice in the past half hour. It felt disgusting. But so did all of this. His chest aching, he waited for Nayan to condemn him. To see through the deceit he couldn’t believe had just left his mouth. Nayan nodded. “It is a strange time.” He replaced the tricycle in its cubbyhole. “Shall we get to work, then?”

15 Tanvi was being hugged. Hugged so tight she couldn’t really breathe. Nitya’s hair—her sister’s hair, her identical twin’s hair— smashed against her cheek. When she tensed, Nitya squeezed tighter, like Tanvi might disappear if she let go even a little. Daisies, Tanvi thought randomly. Those daisies in the rangoli. She couldn’t say how, but she knew Nitya had drawn them. Then Nitya jerked away, almost shoving Tanvi in the process. In two seconds, she’d gone from wide-eyed amazement to flat-out rage. Her mouth had contorted into something frightening. Her hand hung suspended in the air, inches from slapping Tanvi across the face. Tanvi’s heart tumbled in her chest, and her own hands shook. She would give anything for this to be a dream, one she could sell off and forget about. You’re afraid, her pulse thrummed, she’s going to tell you to go away again. Nitya stood framed in the doorway for another second, wheezing like she might pass out, then stormed into the house. “Well, come

in!” she bit out over her shoulder. That fury. Tanvi had felt like that once herself. The feeling bubbled up now—a vivid, undeniable memory, though she couldn’t remember anything else. Her head was so patchy. She hated this, all of it. Turn around, she ordered her legs. They must not have been listening, because they kept pace with Nitya, who kicked off her shoes and left them in the closet. Old habit taking over, Tanvi did the same. All through the foyer and into the family room, scraps of recall attacked her, spiky and unforgiving. She knew that second-floor cathedral ceiling, knew she’d stood beneath it, danced beneath it, thrown tantrums beneath it. So many flashes in time haunting her. Portraits on the walls screamed for her attention. Tanvi stared at the carpet instead. Except it was gone. Hardwood floor had replaced the soft beige surface her feet had padded over, back and forth, back and forth. Somehow she knew she’d gotten in trouble for spilling a drink— grape juice?—that had left a stain. But the details stayed out of reach. Nitya lingered by the couch, like she was waiting for Tanvi to sit first. At least the couch was the same, cream colored and overstuffed. But her body remembered nestling into the cushions to watch movies or get lost in a book, and she couldn’t do it. She plopped down where she was on the floor instead. Sister. Tanvi rolled the word around in her mouth like a sour piece of candy. Twin. My twin. Nitya perched on the recliner across from her. Without taking her gaze from Tanvi, she smoothed out her shiny charcoal skirt. It was petty, but Tanvi felt like she’d scored a point. Too bad she didn’t know what the game was. The ghost version of the room floated in her head, at odds with the reality in front of her. She shifted, hunting for a comfortable position that would let her scope out the furniture. Hadn’t there been two recliners before, not one? Nitya shot up from the recliner. “Don’t you dare leave!” she cried.

The terror in that command hit Tanvi harder than Nitya’s hand ever could have. She stared at her sister’s desperate face. “I wasn’t going to!” Nitya dropped down beside Tanvi and grabbed her wrists roughly enough to hurt. She tried to wriggle away, but Nitya only dug her fingers in. This was too much, too weird. Her sister should still look the way she did the last time Tanvi had seen her, baby fat clinging to her cheeks, the underlying bones hidden, not angular like this stranger’s. Her black hair should only hit her chin, not hang almost to her waist. Her careful eyeliner and plum lipstick turned her into a sleeker version of Tanvi. Plus, her suspicious glare, like Tanvi was an intruder, was all wrong. Nitya’s eyes went wide again. Her words came through gritted teeth. “You’re alive. How?” Tanvi didn’t know what to say. She didn’t remember leaving this house. All she knew was her life in Nagalok. “Did someone kidnap you?” Nitya’s voice got shriller and shriller with each word. “Did they hurt you? How did you get away?” The rapid-fire questions made Tanvi want to shout back. “Stop it!” she forced out. She still couldn’t get enough leverage to pry Nitya’s fingers loose. “Nobody kidnapped me. I don’t think.” This house, this living room, felt like a movie set. She knew it so well, except she didn’t. Those leaf-patterned window sheers in the kitchen hadn’t been there. And the velvet toran with the silver bells hanging over the entrance to the living room—it had been sky blue, not chocolate brown. Tanvi was sure of it. It must have changed color from years of sunlight streaming in through the bay windows, years she hadn’t been here. Even the silver mandir on the side table seemed smaller than she remembered. Nitya pressed so hard she was actually cutting off the circulation in Tanvi’s wrists. “You don’t think? Where were you?” “Let go of me!” “No.” Nitya’s voice wobbled. “How are you even here? How are you not dead?” “You thought I was dead?” Tanvi laughed, though none of this was funny. “I was in Bhogavati.”

Nitya gawked at Tanvi like she’d never heard anything so stupid. “Of course we did!” she snapped. “You’ve been missing for seven years. Seven. Years.” “I wasn’t missing. I told you, I was in Bhogavati.” “Is that some sort of cult?” “You don’t know what Bhogavati is?” Now Tanvi was the one gawking. “The capital city of Nagalok?” “Nagalok?” Nitya scoffed. “That’s just a story.” Just a story. Something about Nitya’s tone, maybe how derisive it was, made the old pain of that day rush back in one violent surge. “You laughed at me!” Tanvi yelled. “All of you!” Nitya’s grip finally slackened. “What are you talking about?” “Our birthday party.” Tanvi spat it at Nitya, the girl who shared her face, the girl who’d once been her best friend and biggest rival. Right then, she resented Nitya for that. For not being the sister she should have been. For chasing Tanvi off. “You know, when we turned ten.” She braced herself for Nitya to say she was making it up. But Nitya didn’t. “Mom and Dad called the cops when you never came back. The whole neighborhood was out looking for you!” “You told everyone I wet the bed!” Reliving the humiliation felt like a scab being torn off too soon. It hurt so much. Nitya should be feeling the wound, too, Tanvi decided, how it bled and stung. “That’s why you disappeared.” Nitya laughed bitterly. “You’re kidding. You ran away because I was mean to you at a party?!” “It was our birthday party!” Tanvi couldn’t access the details, but it didn’t matter. “And you were always mean to me! Always ganging up on me with everybody.” The pain had been branded into her. The betrayal. The knowledge she’d always, always be on the outside of everything. Even her sister, her twin, didn’t care about protecting her. She scowled. That awful feeling was all the memory she needed. “Tanvi,” Nitya said, picking at the hem of her top, “you left us.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “We thought you were dead! For seven years. Do you understand that?” I’m not, though, Tanvi almost said, before a small blue head lifted slightly from her wrist, green-gold eyes alert. It was a wonder Nitya hadn’t gotten bitten.

The room went wavy. Asha. Hadn’t . . . hadn’t Asha said Nitya’s name to Sameer? Hadn’t she brought Tanvi to his house? That meant she’d known whose house this was, too. Since Tanvi couldn’t tear into Asha with Nitya looking on, she channeled all her wrath into her glare. Nitya must have thought the glare was meant for her, because she rushed to say, “Don’t look at me like that! Tanvi, we thought you died. Mom said you needed a little time to yourself, but when you didn’t come back for an hour, we all went to look for you. . . .” She explained how they’d searched and searched, and eventually the guests had left, but Nitya and Mom and Dad kept searching. No matter where they tried, no matter how many times they called Tanvi’s name, no one answered. The neighbors reported having briefly seen Tanvi outside, and no one had had any leads after that. The cops hadn’t been any help, claiming she’d show up on her own. Of course, she never did. “Do you know what it was like, wondering every day if you’d come home?” Nitya visibly vibrated with outrage. Her tears spilled over, and Tanvi wished she didn’t have to see them or listen to any of this. “To wait for the day someone found your body? I couldn’t sleep, Tanvi. I kept thinking I should have done something differently. That it was my fault you ran off.” It was, Tanvi thought, but doubt chewed at her. She’d never stopped to think about how her parents, her sister, would have felt when she vanished. What it would have been like for them to imagine she was dead. Or if she had, she’d forgotten after the initiation. She’d forgotten everything except this kernel of bitterness at the center of her heart. And the link to her sister, the thing that had made her dream. Why? Why did Nitya mean anything to her? “And now you just show up on the doorstep like nothing ever happened?” Nitya asked abruptly. “Why now? I mean, you let us believe you were dead.” Tanvi started to answer, but Nitya didn’t let her. “I don’t know you anymore. The Tanvi I knew never would have let us suffer like that. Do you know we had a cremation for you?”

“I was in Nagalok!” Tanvi protested. “How was I supposed to know?” Nitya watched while she stood and picked up a copper giraffe figurine from the glass-topped coffee table. Recognition jolted through the nerves in Tanvi’s arm, and she set the giraffe back down. Her hand knew the feel of it, like she’d picked it up a thousand times before. She tore around the room, studying the framed pictures she’d avoided before. Mom, Dad, Nitya, and her, all posed in Indian clothes against a blue background. There were a couple of portraits like that. Then they changed, only three faces where there had been four. And finally Nitya alone: Nitya at tennis camp, Nitya graduating middle school, Nitya in a group with friends. Tanvi recognized some of them, but there were new people, too. The timeline of snapshots took her from the past where she’d once belonged to the present, where she might as well be a phantom. This had been her family. She knew that, but the images of the four of them together refused to gel into any kind of memory. Almost as if it was someone else’s life, and she was just peeking in. Maybe, her heart accused, she didn’t know how to be human. Maybe she never had. “How could you leave like that?” Nitya demanded. She’d been trailing Tanvi the whole time. “I already told you,” Tanvi said, trying not to let her crabbiness show. There were other pictures she still had to look at, prints of roses and mushrooms in forests and carnival rides. One had a blue ribbon attached: First Place. Nitya had been holding a camera when she’d answered the door. “Did you take these pictures?” Tanvi asked. But Nitya wasn’t listening. “I’m honestly not even sure this isn’t a dream,” she said. “Is it?” Dreams. Tanvi didn’t miss the irony. This entire trip felt like a dream. “You know what I think?” Nitya didn’t wait for Tanvi to reply. “I think you ran away, and something bad happened to you, and the only way you can cope is by making up a story about nagas.”

Guilt, fuzzy and strange, spread over Tanvi. Nitya expected something from her—she could tell that much—but whatever it was, she doubted she could give it. Anyway, she was supposed to be the one getting answers. She flashed back to the rangoli on the driveway. To her bracelet. “Daisies,” she blurted. “What?” Nitya’s expression was one huge question mark. “What about them?” “The daisies,” Tanvi tried again. “On the driveway.” But Nitya only looked more confused. Tanvi had made a mistake coming here. There was nothing for her in this house, no solutions to her problem, no matter what her dreams had to say about it. This wasn’t her world. It never would be. If anything, it would be better for this family if they didn’t know she’d come back. “You’re right, it is a dream. Just forget you ever saw me.” Mom, she thought, her stupid heart pinching. Dad. She turned to her sister. Nitya. I’m sorry. Then she headed for the door. Nitya was faster. She stepped directly into Tanvi’s path. “Where are you going?” “Leaving, obviously.” Tanvi glanced past her, but when Nitya wouldn’t move, she faced her sister head-on. All Nitya’s coldness had thawed, and she looked like a scared kid. Not the person who always did everything right or even the one who had been so frosty just a minute ago. “You can’t,” she pleaded, and suddenly Tanvi’s hands were in hers so tightly that bones were being crushed again. “You can’t. I don’t care if this isn’t real.” “It’s not,” Tanvi said. “I told you, it’s just a dream.” Except the missing recliner still bothered her. “Where’re Mom and Dad, anyway?” Nitya looked ill. “You don’t know, do you?” Alarm bells clanged in Tanvi’s mind. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’tdon’tdon’t. “Know what?” “Dad.” Nitya, who had been gaping at her ever since she’d gotten here, couldn’t meet her eyes. “After you . . . left, Dad— Well, he

couldn’t handle it. Mom and he kept fighting all the time, and then they split up.” Tanvi felt dizzy. The soles of her feet tingled like she was standing on a cliff. “They got a divorce. Dad moved back to Winnipeg.” Things Tanvi shouldn’t know how to feel overwhelmed her now, an endless ocean of feeling. It had been so long since she’d had to deal with human emotion and contradictions, and there was nothing to hold on to as the riptide pulled her into its depths. She was going under. “Ow!” Nitya yelped. “Your bangle bit me!” Tanvi took advantage of Nitya’s shock to pull away, but like before, her traitorous feet stayed right where they were. She couldn’t make her mouth say anything, either. The world had moved on—her family had moved on—and she didn’t know what to do with that. “Lazy,” Nitya asked, her words hushed, “what happened to you?” Auntie Busy and Auntie Lazy. The reference to their childhood skit dissolved a lump deep within Tanvi. They’d been a team. Sisters and adventurers. The specifics were a blur, but she felt them. Auntie Clover and Auntie Daisy. The secret names carved themselves into her chest. For no reason, her mouth kicked into high gear. “Do you—do you even still have the bracelet?” “What bracelet? If this is part of your story, that’s fine. It’s okay that you have a story. Just don’t go,” Nitya begged. “Please. Please don’t go. Not again.” Stop, Tanvi ordered her throat, her tongue, her lips. “The charm bracelet Dad gave you. With the daisy charm.” Where was this coming from? Of course the bracelet wasn’t here. Tanvi hadn’t bought it yet. Her temples throbbed, and her vision blinked in and out. Like a lamp being switched off and back on—click, click. Her thoughts turned to static, fading around the only one that counted: the bracelet. Nitya blinked a few times, then smiled nervously. “Oh! The one from when we were kids? Gosh, I don’t know. Dad was supposed to

fix it, I think, but then you disappeared, and everything turned upside down.” An entire universe yawned open between the two of them. Nitya dwindled into the background, taking the hallway with her, while the bracelet towered larger and larger in Tanvi’s vision. It was so gold, so bright. Seven charms, all for Tanvi. All for her. Nitya could say what she wanted about it. Tanvi knew better. She reached past Nitya for the doorknob. “If you like bracelets so much,” Nitya babbled, “I’ll find you another one. I promise. All the charms you want.” She glanced at the hallway clock. “Crap, my ride will be here any minute. You know what? I’ll tell her I’m too sick for school. Please just stay.” Asha’s tongue flicked in warning, but Tanvi didn’t care. The bracelet was waiting. Ignoring Nitya calling her name, Tanvi grabbed her shoes and left.

Part Two Once, long ago, so long that the nagaraja and his brothers themselves might startle at the sheer expanse of unspooled time, there lived a nagini maiden. Her slithering hips were swift, her cobra scales shining, her amaranthine lips rich and round as any swollen jewel-currant. When she combed the fragrant waves of her tresses, they gleamed black and liquid like hematite, an invitation to bury one’s fingers in their depths. She had many sisters, this maiden, and while they were content first to frolic and then to seek lovers among their people, her own heart grew restive. It lies in the blood of a naga to care for precious metals, yet even in that the maiden felt alone: the cyclical waxing and waning of Lord Chandra in the sky above captivated her far more than all the gold and silver in all the wondrous palaces of Nagalok. It was the silver of the night, not the earth, that crooned to her, the song of the moon on the surf, and she often fancied she was a whispered spell of the star-speckled heavens mistakenly fallen into a serpentine body. The maiden was but a hatchling when she first traveled to the beach with her family, and while the others made crowns of shells and gleefully splashed one another, she sat on the shore, the sand crunching beneath her coils, entranced by the play of the sun’s light on the surface. It seemed almost to open a path of gemstones the color of crystallized honey into the horizon, a path that promised fiery adventure for the brazen. For her sisters, perhaps. But that was not a path for her. That evening, while her family feasted, the maiden slipped out to the sea and looked on as the moon ascended into the sky. His

silvery radiance danced down, and where it met the water, the beams cracked into countless silver-white shards. There. That was it, the path she sought, a trail of subtle moonstone rather than conspicuous topaz. She traced the jeweled path with her gaze as a veil of clouds drew across Lord Chandra’s half-full visage. The path wavered, then vanished, leaving behind only the dark waters. Not yet, murmured the waves. The maiden returned home to Bhogavati with her family, the experience buried deep in the most secret parts of her heart, where fairy tales unwound into the stuff of dreams, and dreams transmuted into mystical enchantments. Where hope was born. Years rolled by, and between bouts of the refined life expected of her at court, the maiden strolled the night-cloaked beach. Like infinitesimal galaxies in the shadowed sand, seashells glowed at her tail, at her toes, but while the path occasionally appeared, it dissolved just as quickly. She glimpsed the moon’s face, curious yet remote, before it retreated behind its veil once more. Not yet, murmured the waves, again and again until it became a chorus. At last, when the maiden was in the full bloom of womanhood, the path appeared once more. This time, no clouds marred the sky. Moonstones blended into a silver ribbon, reflecting the plump moon’s refulgence. Around him, his bevy of stellar wives sparkled with silvery flame. It was so beautiful the maiden sobbed. Now, said the waves. She dove into them and swam more swiftly than she ever had toward her love and her home in the heavens. Yet no matter how far she swam, the path eluded her. Lord Chandra cast her a glance—who was this strange maiden, so ardent and steadfast in her devotion? The maiden knew she had but this one chance to woo her beloved, and so, though the horizon grew no closer, though fatigue spread like malaise through her body, she swam toward the luminous path. “I am coming!” she cried.

But his interest soured to indifference, for the maiden was no star, and the path dispersed even as she undulated toward it. The heavens, too, began to brighten as she watched, her eyes stinging with both tide and tears. “No!” she begged, forcing herself onward. “Wait a moment, and I will be with you.” Lord Chandra, however, did not care to wait. Turning his attention from her, he forsook her to the sea. Then Lord Surya rode forth in his chariot, his bold rays scattering the last lingering notes of the night. Gone was the delicate and dreamlike moonstone path. Gone, too, was the maiden’s hope. Nothing remained but the uncaring surf. Its waves washed the maiden’s unresisting body ashore. There, on the glimmering sand outside Bhogavati, she wept. Her blood might have turned to brine, for the sorrow that trickled from her eyes found no end. The tears pooled and pooled until they formed a lake, and it soon drew to it all the tears of all the lost lovers in all the worlds. Eventually, sunlight itself could not resist the pull, and where it touched the surface, it splintered into innumerable golden gemstones. Sometime later, the moon, too, looked down upon the lake, curious to see what had so fully absorbed even his celestial counterpart. In that instant, his own radiance was ensnared. Every night since, the moonlit path appears without fail. It is rumored that any who venture onto its silvery stream risk being swept away by Lord Chandra, perhaps for rapture, or perhaps for revenge, while those who keep to the grief-suffused shore will learn the song of their own lonely hearts. —FROM THE NAGA PURANA: A FLORILEGIUM OF FOLKTALES, PROPERTY OF THE OFFICIAL ROYAL LIBRARY AT BHOGAVATI

16 Tanvi balled herself up in the back of the cramped rideshare car. Her body ached for her bracelet. Next to her, Asha fiddled with her phone. As they pulled away from the curb, the driver turned and smiled. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” I have a twin sister, Tanvi thought in reply, and a mom and a dad, and now they know I’m alive, and I just want to turn my brain off, please and thank you. One glare from Asha, and the driver shut right up. Tanvi was pretty sure she glimpsed fangs and slit pupils. The driver must have, too; he blanched and nailed his gaze to the road. Tanvi squeezed her own eyes shut and retreated into the haven of the bracelet. Once she got home, she’d never have to think about today again. Golden warmth enveloped her, erasing everything else. The frenzied knocking in her chest faded. She could already feel the occupied dreamstones in her cabinet, ripe for trading in. Asha elbowed her. “You are missing the view.”

Tanvi reflexively opened her eyes just enough to take in the concrete-and-glass buildings and sports team logos flying past. A blue sign announced they were heading east on Interstate 76—the Schuylkill, her jerk of a mind noted—into Center City. She knew this view. She’d seen it more times than she could count, driving downtown from the house with the red door. Nitya’s house. The image of her sister’s distraught face—Tanvi’s face—punched through the increasingly raggedy gilt cocoon. We thought you died, it accused. “You knew whose house that was, didn’t you?” she challenged. Asha bit her lip, then stroked two fingertips over the back of Tanvi’s hand. “Perhaps I did.” Even that slight touch made Tanvi’s sensitized skin scream. She ripped her hand away. “Is this a joke to you? You knew, and you still let me go there. Do you even get how awful that is?” Asha recoiled, her irises sparking. She shifted into a cobra and slithered under the driver’s seat. Tanvi peeked up front, but luckily, the driver didn’t dare even glance at the rearview mirror. “What are you doing? He could’ve seen you!” Asha hissed, so faint that only Tanvi could hear it, and her forked tongue darted in and out from beneath the seat. “Be mad, then. What do I care?” Tanvi leaned her too-heavy head against the window and closed her scratchy eyes. She just wanted to go home. Home to her room in the dream runners’ quarters, where she could sleep and sleep and never dream again. Tanvi must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Asha, in human form again, was helping her out of the car. Asha deposited a gold coin on the empty seat. “Come, Tanvi. We have arrived.” The relief Tanvi felt at not having dreamed vaporized when she looked up. Instead of Penn’s Landing, what had to be an American high school loomed ahead, one big, ugly hunk of brick and concrete. Oh, Asha was so dead. Tanvi couldn’t believe her nerve. “What happened to taking us back?”

“It will be but a few minutes,” Asha promised, tapping at her phone, “and then we will leave. You have my word.” Tanvi toed a crack in the sidewalk. No one else was around, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. All this being out in the daytime was unnatural. Wrong. “You keep saying that. Can’t you see your little boyfriend without me?” “Soon I will be immersed in wedding preparations and all the duties that follow,” Asha told her phone before tucking it in her pocket. “I would enjoy a chance to say good-bye before being consigned to my royal cage, lovely as it may be.” Tanvi had expected some glib nonanswer, not this. She turned to look at Asha. It still hurt to do that, but she made herself examine the sleek contours of Asha’s cheeks and her perfectly smooth skin. All effortless in a way even the best makeup artist could only aspire to. Her lush ponytail, lustrous as a strand of black pearls, could have been cut from the night sky. She might have long legs and blunt teeth right now. She might be wearing a cute dress. But Asha could never really pass for a teen girl, not to anyone bothering to pay attention. She was an otherworldly princess whose rhinestone flower clips sat on her head as regally as any crown, and her destiny, one she hadn’t asked for, was calling. It was probably just the guilt from Nitya’s accusation clinging to her like dream residue, but Tanvi gave in. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.” “Did you pack your lozenges? The doors are locked to outsiders.” “What kind of runner do you think I am?” Tanvi checked again for any prying eyes, then downed a lozenge from her pouch. “Aren’t you going to glamour me?” “I did not think to bring my vermilion.” The barest trace of embarrassment showed on Asha’s face before she perked up again. “I suppose we will simply have to chance it. How fun!” “For you, maybe,” Tanvi muttered. Side by side, they slipped into the building. Inside, they passed an awards display case and electronic signs announcing the day’s agenda and made a right turn into a corridor

full of army-green lockers. The air smelled like harsh cleaners, and the fluorescent lighting sent forks of pain through Tanvi’s eyeballs. Worse, the knowledge of her missing memories wouldn’t leave her alone. It was her brain trying to fill in the gaps and failing no matter how many times she ordered it to stop. You left us. The Tanvi I knew never would have let us suffer like that. The bell rang, spooking her, and students poured out of classrooms. A boy with fluffy curls and a violin case gestured wildly to a girl in a yellow headband. Tanvi felt like she’d swallowed a pinecone. The girl with the headband. The one who’d first confused Tanvi for Nitya that night and put this whole horrible thing in motion. Just a couple of hours ago, Tanvi had wanted nothing more than to find that girl and ask about the mix-up. Now she only wanted to flee. That girl being here meant Nitya was here. Hadn’t Sameer said something about going to school with her? If only Tanvi had a lozenge that would let her melt through the floor. “Hey, Nitya,” the boy said to her. “Hitesh was looking for you earlier. You should text him.” Tanvi strained, her mind blinking on and off again, but couldn’t come up with anything better than, “Uh, thanks.” Asha struck a pose. “Hello! I am Asha, Nitya’s cousin.” The boy looked too awed to answer, but the girl with the headband introduced herself as Mai. Meanwhile, other people were crowding around them: friends of Nitya’s, from how they kept greeting Tanvi. Had Asha completely lost it? Coming here was bad enough, but impersonating Nitya and her cousin was begging for trouble. Not that Asha cared. She’d known this was Nitya’s school, and she’d brought Tanvi here, anyway. It felt like a bad dream—except she couldn’t just cram it into a vial. “Can’t wait to see your portfolio today,” Mai said. “I’m so glad I don’t have to share mine until next week.”

Tanvi made a strangled sound. Mai laughed. “Oh, you’re always too hard on yourself. Your photography is amazing, and you know it.” Another bell rang. “We’re going to be late!” the boy said. “I thought going to an arts school was supposed to mean less work,” someone else complained. “Not in Collins’s class . . .” “Well, we can’t all be good at everything like Nitya,” Mai teased. Wishing she could stuff Asha inside one of the lockers, Tanvi forced a smile. Nitya must have arrived by now, too. The last thing Tanvi needed was for everyone to see them together. She had to get out of here. Asha, of course, was too busy telling some joke to catch Tanvi’s murderous stare. A few of the students, including Mai, herded Tanvi and Asha into a classroom with charts of the periodic table on the cinderblock walls. Before Tanvi knew what was happening, she was squashed into a chair with an attached desk. It suddenly hit her that if things had been different, this might have been her school, too. Those kids in the hall, her friends. The sense of being in a dream heightened, growing even more muddled and surreal. Looking positively ecstatic, Asha shimmied into the desk right by her. “There are at least two elements mortals have not yet discovered deep within Prithvi’s crust,” she confided. “We nagas have known about them since the beginning. Shall I inform the teacher?” Tanvi’s vision cleared. She’d had it all backward. Asha was the one dreaming. A stupid, completely selfish daydream about surprising a human boy at school. “Are you—” “Hey, where’s your stuff?” Mai asked. “Do you need to borrow a pen?” Belatedly, Tanvi realized everyone else had notebooks and pens and tablets. She shrugged. “I forgot?” Mai gave her a funny look as Sameer walked into the room. He did a triple take. “Asha?”

Asha practically sparkled at him, her smile was so bright, and pointed to the neighboring desk. “Sameer! Sit with me.” On her other side, Tanvi almost screamed. Any second now, he’d catch on that she wasn’t Nitya. What was Asha thinking? Maybe Tanvi should just make a break for it. Asha could fend for herself. Sameer, who looked like he didn’t know whether to be happy or freaked out, sat down and leaned over. “I told you not to come here!” he said under his breath. A pale man in glasses tapped the whiteboard at the front of the room. “I hope you all studied hard for today’s exam. It’s a full third of your grade for the semester, and no, I will not be grading on a curve, so don’t bother asking.” Ignoring the grumbles, he started checking off roll call. He hadn’t gotten three names in when Tanvi glimpsed Nitya’s shocked face staring at her through the window in the door. Great. Nitya ducked out of sight, but not before someone muttered, “Did you see that?” Sameer definitely had. He glanced suspiciously from Tanvi to the door, and she could see the wheels turning. He texted something from beneath his desk. “Asha!” she hissed. “We have to go.” Asha winked at her, then stood. “Good morning, Mr. Collins,” she sang out, sashaying to the front of the room. “As a token of my gratitude to you for permitting me to visit your class today, I wish to tell you a story.” Tanvi gaped at her. So did Sameer. And the rest of the class. Mr. Collins raised his eyebrows. “Who are you, exactly?” “Asha, Nitya’s cousin from India.” “Nitya,” Mr. Collins said, “I didn’t receive any notice from the office about you bringing a guest today. Did you forget we have an exam?” Nitya might have had the perfect response, but the best Tanvi could manage was a hesitant “No?” “Oh, but I am certain you will enjoy this, sir,” said Asha. “Back home, my family is celebrated far and wide for our riveting narratives.” She patted the gold cobra-shaped bajuband on her

upper arm. “I won this for my performance in a recent competition. And now to regale you with the prizewinning story, an epic tale of hope and the struggle for survival.” “Uh-huh. I don’t suppose it’s related to this?” Mr. Collins pointed to the whiteboard, where he’d written, For extra credit: What do PVC, Kevlar, and Teflon all have in common? “There was a man.” Asha surveyed the entire classroom, drawing out the suspense. Her voice dropped in pitch. “And there was a tiger.” “Here for it!” someone behind Tanvi exclaimed. “I hope he gets eaten.” Mr. Collins crossed his arms. “I’m still waiting to hear how this relates to synthetic polymers. Or even basic chemistry.” “Go,” Asha urged Tanvi, who leaped up, along with Sameer. He threw his backpack over his shoulders. “Uh, family emergency!” That’s one word for it, Tanvi thought. Before Mr. Collins could argue, she flung open the door. “There was a tiger,” Asha finished with a wily grin. She glided out after them. “This way,” Sameer said, leading Tanvi and Asha down the hall and through a set of heavy doors to a deserted quad outside. Someone had lost a red scarf on the pavement. Tanvi squinted; the color was jarring against the mass of gray clouds moving in. Sameer and Asha settled at one of the tables, while Tanvi leaned back against a potted tree. The feeling of being in a nightmare had returned, and with it the sense of being spied on. “Asha,” she said, trying not to yell, “we really need to go.” “You’re not Nitya.” Sameer frowned at her. “I know, because she texted me to meet her out here. Which means—” Nitya burst into the courtyard. “Sameer, I said the east quad.” A cool mask had replaced her tornado of emotions from earlier, and when she addressed Tanvi, her voice was level, with just a hint of impatience. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” “You didn’t tell me your sister’s alive,” Sameer said, sounding like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Nitya scowled. “I didn’t even know until two hours ago!”

The guilt bulldozed Tanvi all over again. She would give anything to forget this. “Dude, what’s going on?” a boy with Vietnamese features interrupted. “I got your texts. Right before Ms. Kovner gave me a demerit and confiscated my phone.” “See for yourself.” Sameer motioned from Nitya to Tanvi. The boy glanced between them, then whistled. “Tanvi? I thought you were dead.” “Binh.” Sameer sighed. “Come on, man.” The other boy in Sameer’s dream. Tanvi remembered now. She shuddered. “I can’t get over this,” Binh said. “Where were you?” Sidestepping the question, Tanvi pointed to Asha. “She made me come here.” Asha waved. “We’re supposed to be back in Nagalok already, but she just had to see you first, Sameer.” Nitya advanced on Asha. “Who are you? And what are you doing with my sister?” “She’s the one who took me to Nagalok,” Tanvi said. An impression pierced the memory static in her mind, and her hands started trembling. A cake. Their cake. “Wait, you kidnapped Tanvi?” Nitya repeated. Each word was as cold as an icicle. “What’s wrong with you?” “Yet we are all here together, are we not?” Asha said proudly. “Now you may talk to each other as sisters do. Go on.” Both Tanvi and Nitya shot her are you kidding looks. “Stop it, Asha,” Sameer said. “This is so messed up.” His lip had curled in disgust. “How could you do this? And then act like you didn’t know?” “But am I not amending that now?” Asha protested. Her chin quivered. Nitya gave her a naga-level dark glare. “Do you even get what you did? You destroyed our family!” No one spoke. Sameer avoided Asha’s stricken eyes, and when she tried to take his hand, he yanked it out of reach. “Where did she take you, Tanvi?” Nitya pressed. “Tell me the truth.” “I told you. Nagalok,” Tanvi said.

Nitya spoke gently, almost patronizingly. “Nagalok’s not real.” “Yes, it is.” They stared at each other, Tanvi and the twin she shouldn’t have, and her heart thumped hard against her ribs. None of this should be happening. None of it. “I see,” said Asha, her shoulders slumped. “Tanvi, let us depart.” As she pushed away from the table, something screeched above them, loud enough that Tanvi plugged her ears. A flock of at least fifty gold-feathered eagles circled overhead, blinding against the gray-white sky. They were huge, much bigger than any birds on Prithvi had a right to be. “What the hell?” Sameer and Binh demanded in unison. The giant eagles keened again and dipped until Tanvi could see the malice in their cunning stares. No ordinary eagles looked like that. They were garudas. “We need to get out of here!” she shouted. Thunder roared across the sky, and the clouds abruptly opened up, dumping their water in huge sheets and dropping visibility to almost nil. A garudi broke through the rain to dive-bomb the spot where Asha stood before soaring back up to her comrades. Her wings were the shade of pomegranates, like the scarf on the ground. “Tanvi!” Asha cried. Tanvi ran toward the sound of Asha’s voice. More garudas swooped down, isolating the two of them from the others. Tanvi heard Nitya scream, but there was nothing she could do. “Princess!” a severe voice called. “Runner! To me, now!” Madhu appeared behind Asha. She wore lean human legs, her fangs jutted dagger sharp from her mouth, and the rage radiating from her threatened to sear holes in the garudas’ plumage. Her hand clamped down on Asha’s shoulder. “We must leave now.” Tanvi barely had time to blink before Madhu seized her arm and brushed a pendant of interlocking snakes. The blue-green of the water dimension appeared around the three of them, forming a translucent veil. Keening, a few of the garudas hurled themselves against the barrier, but they ricocheted off.

“Tanvi!” Nitya pleaded, already leagues away. “Don’t go!” Tanvi pretended not to hear. As Madhu pulled them down, Tanvi’s body yielded to the rhythm of the waves. She didn’t even mind how intense the blues and greens were this time. Soon she’d be home, back to the way things should be.

17 Yet another messenger, his satin dupatta billowing out around him, approached the entrance to the archives, where Venkat had been stationed. Venkat suppressed a groan. “I am told Lord Nayan has been detained by urgent matters at present,” the messenger said, making no effort to conceal his own pique, “and my liege would never deem to impose during such inopportune circumstances. Nevertheless, as time is at a premium, she bade me inquire if he intends to reopen trade for the day?” Venkat flashed his best understanding smile, which, under such inopportune circumstances, felt about as supportive as a snake for the eagle that wanted to eat it. “I’m afraid Lord Nayan is still unavailable; however, I hope that will change shortly. For now, please accept our apologies for the inconvenience.” The messenger didn’t look at all satisfied, but he bowed his head and left to relay the update. Venkat was going to kill Asha. She’d promised to find Tanvi and return as soon as possible—but had neglected to mention her back-to-back wedding-related

consultations scheduled after breakfast. When she never showed up for the first one, and discreet inquiries failed to place her anywhere on palace grounds, her parents had come to Nayan. Leaving Venkat no choice but to claim she’d gone to Prithvi on an unauthorized scouting mission. He was sick of lying, but how else was he supposed to look out for Tanvi? Though Nayan’s mouth had thinned, he’d stood by Venkat and pacified Asha’s parents, even welcoming them to wait in the archives. Then he’d dispatched Madhu to retrieve the princess. All Venkat could do now was wait and try hard not to chew off his nails. Behind him, Nayan’s voice boomed. “Well done locating them so swiftly, Madhu. We can rest in the knowledge that our princess is secure among us once more.” “Yes, our heartfelt esteem to you,” Asha’s mother said. “I have been so worried!” They were safe. Venkat’s stomach unclenched, and he said a quick prayer of thanks to all the gods. He sped around the shelves to find Asha trapped before the large desk, penned in by her parents on their cobra-patterned coils. Though they wore auspicious colors, vivid purples and yellows, their faces were grim. Tanvi hovered outside the elegant triangle like an afterthought. A slow smile of satisfaction curled over Madhu’s wizened cheeks. Tanvi’s pendant twinkled in her grip. “I am merely performing my duty.” “What is the meaning of this, beti?” Asha’s mother demanded. “Is this why we have permitted you such free rein, that you run off without a word to the mortal realm and bring shame down on our heads? You are no longer a child!” Venkat waited for Asha to object, but she didn’t. His stomach resumed gyrating as he searched her face, then Tanvi’s. Both girls seemed dimmer, like diyas glimpsed through a heavy curtain. Not even the glowing dreamstones or the gentle radiance from the skylights could compensate for it. Asha appeared oddly

chastened, while Tanvi seemed on edge, not detached like a runner should be. “Are you all right?” he asked, joining Nayan and Madhu. Tanvi’s gaze flicked to his, and the unhappy bent of her mouth hurt his heart. Nayan, meanwhile, silenced him with a look. “We have been offering excuse after excuse for your missed appointments all morning, beti, telling everyone you stayed up too late after the party and needed your rest,” Asha’s father said. “How do you think this makes us appear?” Asha huffed. “Everything is so dramatic with all of you! ‘The garudas will find us.’ ‘The secret will be revealed.’ ‘The world will end.’ So on and so forth.” The wrinkles around Madhu’s eyes deepened. “Have you already forgotten the battalion of garudas attacking you when I arrived? Had I not rescued you in time, you would be in their clutches as we speak. I would scarcely call that ‘so dramatic.’” Garudas had attacked them? Venkat thought his heart might rupture where he stood. From what he’d read, a casual brush of a garuda’s talon was enough to cleave through bone. He fought the urge to hug Tanvi and Asha close and focused on calming his breathing instead. A muscle convulsed in Nayan’s jaw, a single twitch, before his features smoothed out again. Venkat knew how much he disliked being caught unaware. With Asha’s parents there, Madhu wouldn’t have had a chance to fill him privately in on the specifics. “A garuda battalion! By Mansa Devi, are you trying to end me before my time?” Asha’s mother’s tail lashed the floor violently enough to knock someone over. She stared at her daughter in disbelief before wheeling on Nayan. “She travels to Prithvi on your authority!” “You dare address Lord Nayan in such a manner?” growled Madhu. Nayan quelled her with an upraised finger. Her nostrils flared at the reprimand, but she bowed her head. “My apologies, my lord.” Nayan clasped his hands behind his back, in that moment wholly the remote and austere lord whose counsel King Vasuki himself sought out. “Dear lord and lady, we are all deeply dismayed by this

matter, but I swear to you that Asha did not receive my consent to travel this morning.” Asha flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder. “It is not as if I asked the garudas to chase me down!” She sounded defensive rather than nonchalant, and she darted an anxious glance at Tanvi. If Asha couldn’t even manage her usual imperious tone, she was in bigger trouble than Venkat had realized. What exactly had happened out there? “Be that as it may, you have evidently flaunted yourself enough on your trips to Prithvi that they knew to await you,” Nayan said. “What if they had harmed you? If they had tracked your return path and breached the palace? A game this most certainly is not.” Her parents exchanged a meaningful stare before her mother reached forward and undid Asha’s ponytail. “And what is this foolish playing at being mortal? It has gone on far too long. You are a princess!” “But I must scout! We need a new dream runner candidate.” Desperation bled from Asha’s tone. “Perhaps we should table this for now,” Nayan suggested, “and revisit it after the wedding. You may even find your new responsibilities leave you no time for this old role.” If he weren’t also a naga, Asha’s glare would have poisoned him as surely as her bite. “You would take this from me, too?” Her mother hissed, long and menacing, her slit-pupil eyes ablaze. “Enough. You will come with us now and attend the remainder of your fittings and consultations. Each and every one.” Even Asha, who Venkat had never seen back down from anyone, dropped her gaze. “Don’t worry,” he said as cheerily as he could. “I’ll take care of the runners.” Her parents joined their palms in acknowledgment to Nayan, then ushered her out. The archives, with its many shelves of books and dreamstone vials, seemed to balloon in their wake, and Tanvi made a forlorn figure against its backdrop. “You can’t punish her,” Venkat said as soon as the doors had closed again. Tanvi picked at her wrist like she was grabbing for something he couldn’t see. Her bracelet.

The guilt gnawed at him. Even if she wasn’t burning out, this addictive behavior was Jai all over again. And Venkat had made it worse each time he’d reinforced her need to earn boons. Nayan regarded Madhu’s smug grin with impatience. “You must control your temper in public, old mother.” She muttered an apology. “Go now and call an emergency meeting of the council. Their Majesties must be apprised of the situation.” “As you wish,” Madhu said, and left. Nayan took so long to speak again that Venkat wondered if he’d have to repeat himself. “Whom should I not punish?” Nayan asked at last. “Either of them!” Nayan turned a contemplative expression on him. “Your compassion is what sets you apart. Without it, your dreamsmithing would suffer. Yet with it, you suffer. A conundrum.” He plucked the quill from the inkwell on the desk and twirled it around. Unlike Chintu, he didn’t spill a single drop of the golden ink. “Think of it not as a punishment but as a correction. Asha must learn that there are greater things than her own desires. She represents not only herself but also the people of Nagalok.” “But what if she doesn’t want to?” “Few of us choose our duty,” Nayan said coolly. “It is instead chosen for us.” Venkat wanted to keep arguing. That wasn’t fair at all. But Tanvi needed him, so he changed the subject. “I have a request.” “Ask, my son, and perhaps I may even grant it.” Venkat motioned to Tanvi, who startled, her lips parting. “So do not punish this one?” Nayan half smiled. “Interesting. Go on.” Dreams and boons. “You handled Jai, and I respect that.” The words stuck in Venkat’s throat like barbs, and he had to push them out. “But let me take care of Tanvi. Please.” He rushed ahead before Nayan could reply. “I know, I know; we have to stay focused on ending the war.” His voice cracked. “But . . .” “I will think on it. For now, escort her back to her room and prepare yourself for the council meeting.” “The council meeting?” Venkat definitely hadn’t expected that.

“Indeed. Your attention has wavered of late, and it is time to return it to our greater mission. All else, while diverting in its way, is ultimately a distraction.” Venkat nodded. “Point taken.” He knew Nayan was right. He could best help his runners by staying focused on helping everybody. But once Nayan had turned away, Venkat hurried to Tanvi’s side. She was drooping like a plant no one had watered in weeks, so obviously worn out and terrified that he couldn’t ignore it. “Let’s get you some rest,” he said. “Can I walk to you to your room?” She sized him up warily. Then, to his relief, she nodded. As Venkat walked Tanvi through the gloomy tunnels, he kept waiting for her to say something. She didn’t. In her room, he guided her to the chair, then poured her a cup of water. When she didn’t take it, he set it down on the table. “Tanvi,” he said cautiously, pulling the cotton coverlet from the bed and draping it over her shoulders. “What happened to you? Can you tell me?” She didn’t answer, only fidgeted. It was subtle, a rubbing together of fingers, yet he saw it. Venkat needed to leave for the council meeting, but the thought of abandoning her here alone after whatever she’d been through sickened him. He knelt by her side. If giving her space to feel safe enough to talk made him a little late, so be it. He’d never realized just how bare the dream runners’ quarters were. The shelves in his apartments were stocked with enough books and scrolls to keep him entertained for weeks, and every room contained furniture for five people. Tanvi, on the other hand, had a twin bed, a cabinet—at least painted—a simple table and chair, and a spartan wardrobe. At some point, however, Asha must have suffered one of her periodic spurts of generosity, because a delicate golden vase shone from the windowsill, and an embroidered cushion in red, blue, and green peeked out from beneath the bed. A pink-and-copper lotuspatterned rug glimmered on the floor, collecting dust. Trust Asha,

Venkat thought wryly, to hang garlands on the walls and believe the runners would appreciate her efforts at beautification—or even notice them. He knew he couldn’t stay much longer, maybe another minute or two. “I just want to know if the garudas hurt you,” he said. “If you need anything.” Tanvi picked at her wrist again. He winced and had to stop himself from laying his hand over hers. You don’t need it, he wanted to tell her. It’s just another dream. Instead, he let the seconds tick past, hoping. Tanvi cocked her head at him, and the awareness in her brown eyes, a gloss the other runners lacked, confirmed what he’d already suspected. He’d never heard of this happening, but he couldn’t deny it. Pain kindled in her face, pain and confusion. Things that no dream runner ever felt outside a dream, let alone showed. There was no question now. She might be straining to hold herself together, but it wasn’t because she was burning out. Tanvi grabbed the cup of water he’d poured. After gulping down every drop, she said, “They didn’t hurt me.” Venkat couldn’t have been more relieved. “I’m glad. But are you okay?” She nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know?” “Want some more water?” She shook her head again, this time with certainty. “I have to go. To a council meeting,” Venkat said, not sure why he was explaining. But the way she watched him, vulnerable and so present, made him want to tell her. “I’ll have some food sent to you,” he added. He wanted to offer her something so she knew she wasn’t alone. “I’m a dream runner,” Tanvi said, and she touched her wrist again. “But Madhu took my pendant.” “You’re a great dream runner.” Venkat smiled extra hard, since he couldn’t do anything about the pendant part. “Your wares are always top tier.” Tanvi pressed her lips together, then smiled as well, a shy, uncertain thing. It twitched and crumbled almost instantly. But she’d smiled. At him.

Venkat hardly dared to breathe, let alone move. He held her gaze, which was anything but detached. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. Then, with hope swelling in his heart, he headed out to the council meeting.

18 Tanvi stared at the door Venkat had closed behind him. His voice echoed in her head, caring. Attentive. She’d done her best not to let him see anything, to act like she was the dream runner she’d always been, but she was so tired. Her eyes were so dry and scratchy they kept sticking to her eyelids, and every time she blinked, it felt like ripping away strips of skin. Her hold on the bracelet, already so slippery, gave way once and for all to Nitya’s face—first irate, then cold. Tanvi’s own face, but wrong. A blister of memory rose up and burst, patchy and dim: Nitya fighting with her in the kitchen over the last piece of good Halloween candy. Nobody wanted the fake Twizzlers—so gross. Then another, all faded panic and fear: Nitya tattling on Tanvi for watching a horror movie on TV. Tanvi squeezed her cup until her palm went numb. She really needed to sleep, but if this was happening now, when she was awake, who knew what she might dream?

A third blister erupted: s’mores melting in a campfire in the woods. Tanvi pummeled it back down. No sleep, then. She pinched herself as hard as she could all along her arm. She’d stay up no matter how much it hurt. Remembering hurt more. Another memory: Sameer’s pet rock collection, adorned with Sharpie mustaches. The panic flared again, red and hot, scalding her stupid heart. She really was breaking. Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, Tanvi concentrated on her cabinet. Her harvest still sat there, waiting. She just had to make it until Venkat returned. She pinched herself and pinched herself. Soon, finally, she’d get her boon and buy her bracelet, and everything would go back to normal. Tanvi pinched herself. . . . Nitya and Sameer sat in front of the giant TV in his family room, playing video games. “I miss her,” Nitya said, tears trickling down her cheeks. “How could she leave like that?” “I miss her, too.” Sameer punched a button on his controller. His character, a mage, shot green fireballs at a shopkeeper, who turned to ashes. “Maybe she got lost. Maybe one day, you’ll come home, and she’ll be back.” “I’m right here!” Tanvi shouted, but no one heard. Her skin felt creepy, like no one could see her, either. Nitya grinned wickedly. “Want to know a secret?” Sameer nodded. “I don’t really miss her at all. I hope she never comes back.” Her character, a burly warrior, chopped down a bush with her sword and collected fifty coins. Ding, ding, ding! Sameer laughed. “Me, too. Nobody liked her.” “Especially not Mom and Dad!” The two of them cackled like cartoon witches. “Mom’s ordering pizza,” Sameer said. “Let’s go!” He and Nitya skipped into the kitchen, and Tanvi realized she’d never existed at all.

Tanvi woke, crying out, to the afternoon sunlight slanting through the window. Had that actually happened? Or was it a dream? Her room, so small and dismal, pressed in on her, and she couldn’t get comfortable no matter how she turned. Dream or memory—it made no difference. She wanted to delete it from her brain. She clutched her sweat-damp pillow tight as if it could anchor her. She wouldn’t wind up like Jai, she swore. She wouldn’t. The slimy residue stuck to her like scum on the surface of a pond. If only she could harvest her own dreams, just bottle them up in a vial . . . Tanvi heaved the mess of sheets aside and sat up. What if she could? The residue of the nightmare still lingered; hopefully that would be enough. Seconds later, Tanvi stood at the cabinet—had it always been painted like that?—reaching for a vacant dreamstone. The first one that came to hand was rose quartz. She uncorked it and set it on the table, then dug her fingers into her temples. Until now, she had only ever imagined getting her boon and buying her bracelet, wallowing in the promise of how good it would feel. How satisfying. She wasn’t sure she even knew how to visualize anything else, but she had to try. Her nerves firing with fear and hope both, Tanvi pushed past the usual likenesses of the bracelet and Nitya’s face. Then she tentatively opened to the new picture: reaping this newest nightmare. Freeing herself. She’d only been on this side of harvesting once before, during her initiation. The memory unfolded now, and she welcomed it—a girl named Parul following Nayan’s instructions as Tanvi nodded off, sent under by the sleeping brew Asha had portioned out for her. Parul had never actually touched Tanvi, but as she drowsed, she’d felt the harvesting energy like a magnet, tugging. Tanvi screwed her eyes shut and homed in on the slimy residue. How it felt, letting it draw her back into the dream. It hurt at first, like stretching a muscle she never used, but then it transported her. Nitya . . . the video game . . . Sameer . . .

Nitya laughing, glad she didn’t have a sister anymore. Fire shot up Tanvi’s fingers and into her head. She yelped, her hand cramping, and only realized a second too late that she’d broken the connection. The nightmare was gone. No. Tanvi refused to accept it. She’d been so close to getting rid of all that for good. One of the blisters rippled back up, more sketched in this time. Nitya, age six, scrawling in the mustaches on Sameer’s rock collection after Tanvi dared her to. No. No, no, no. Tanvi flailed, hair whipping around her, until it abated. That wasn’t her past. It couldn’t be. Gulping hard, she eyed the open vial. So she couldn’t harvest her dreams herself. But another runner could. Maybe if Tanvi promised Indu her next boon, Indu would agree to do it for her. All those names, all those faces would be scrubbed away. She’d be free again. It would mean waiting longer for the bracelet, but what choice did she really have? No more memories. No more dreams. None of these distracting vases and rugs and smells and colors clamoring for her attention. Just a job she knew how to do with a reward she understood. Her fingers drummed out a rat-tat-tat on the table. Daytime meant that the dream runners were resting. Which meant Indu would be in her room. And that meant Tanvi had no time to waste. She threw on her shoes and ran. In the corridor, she passed closed doorway after doorway, none of which had any decoration or even identification. She’d never noticed that before. Or how dusty it was. How dim. Her heart panged, and Tanvi promised herself that she’d forget all these details soon enough. There. Indu’s room. Tanvi marched inside. Everything in it was so simple, so impersonal. All utilitarian furniture, plus a mirror-work wall hanging and a pair of sheer curtains over the window slit. The room didn’t feel lived in, despite the dozing girl mostly swallowed up by the white-blanketed bed.

Though Indu slept, she wasn’t dreaming. Her round face was too blank for that. Tanvi wanted that peace back so badly. For her own heart to be silenced again. Glancing around, she spotted the tray of half-eaten food on the table. Of course Indu hadn’t bothered to finish it, since food was nothing but fuel to her. Just something to fill her stomach so she could keep harvesting. Tanvi’s stomach grumbled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten in way too long, and Venkat had promised he would have a meal delivered to her room. Venkat. Her shoulder suddenly warmed with the remembered weight of his hand. His mouth had gone soft and vulnerable, like he’d been on the verge of confessing a secret. Quit being stupid, she ordered herself. Think of why you’re here. But she couldn’t bring herself to wake Indu. Instead, she went to investigate the closet. Unlike hers, this one was a mess. Used towels and sheets lay strewn over the floor, and two soccer balls sat on top of the heap. Two? She knelt to pick one up. “Don’t touch that!” someone snapped. Tanvi pivoted to find Indu standing behind her. “What’re you doing here?” Indu asked, her eyes flat. That impassive gaze unsettled Tanvi more than it had any right to, considering that was probably exactly how she used to look—and hoped to again. “You want a boon, right?” Indu’s apathetic tone brightened. “Are you going to give me one?” “Sort of,” Tanvi said. “Can I see your dreamstones?” With a shrug, Indu padded to the cabinet and opened it. Three of the dreamstones in the front row shone out from the rest. “They’re the best quality,” Indu boasted. “Once Venkat sees them, I’ll get my ball.” She already has a ball, though. She has two. It didn’t make sense. Tanvi hadn’t even gotten her first bracelet, and she was seventeen. How had Indu already earned two boons?

Tanvi had never wondered about anyone’s age before, but now she guessed Indu must be around thirteen, that gawky age of being stretched out and gangly while trying to figure out how to finish growing up. More doubts sprouted like vines in Tanvi’s head. How long had Indu been here, then? She hadn’t been in Tanvi’s cohort. “So,” Indu demanded, “are you going to give me the boon now, or can I go back to sleep?” Tanvi tried hard to imitate the easy, encouraging smile Venkat had whenever he’d bought her wares. “I can trade you dreams that are even better than the ones you have—if you help me with something.” “With what?” Indu almost sounded curious. The thought of the plan burned like a fire ant’s bite. Tanvi shrank from it. As long as the words didn’t come out of her mouth, she was a dream runner just like Indu. But as she examined Indu’s wooden expression, she saw all the people Indu had left behind on Prithvi. All the people who might still be mourning her. Nitya’s grieving face floated before Tanvi’s eyes. Her panicked plea not to go hummed in Tanvi’s ears. What if Indu had a sister, too? One she’d played soccer with? Fury igniting in her, Tanvi shoved the ridiculous worries away. That was not her problem. “I need you to harvest my dreams.” The interest that had sparked in Indu’s face when she’d thought boons might appear guttered, then died. “Dream runners don’t dream.” She turned back to the bed. “I do, though,” Tanvi insisted. “Listen to me.” Indu climbed onto the bed. “Don’t you want your boon?” Tanvi tore her dreamstones from her pouch and waved them at Indu. “See? These can get it for you.” But Indu had already checked out; her expression was as tranquil as a doll’s and every bit as remote. “What happens if you can’t sell your dreams?” Tanvi went on, not caring how desperate she sounded. “If you don’t get any more boons after this one? Then what?” Indu crawled under the coverlet. “Then I get replaced. Every dream runner’s only as good as their harvest.”